


Brownie points

by Nival_Vixen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awkward Clint Barton, Awkward Flirting, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Complete, Cute, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, Haircuts, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Plushies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Social Anxiety, Sulking, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26249893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: Clint needs a haircut.Nat knows a guy.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 17
Kudos: 127





	Brownie points

"You need a haircut," Natasha says, tugging on a lock of Clint's hair as she passes by.

Clint, who still hasn't had his third cup of coffee, doesn't respond or even bother to open his eyes. He usually wouldn't bother to turn his hearing aids on until after his fifth cup, but he can deal with Nat before that level of consciousness. She's lucky and one of the few.

Later, when they're shooting at aliens - him with his bow and arrow and Nat with one of the alien species' own guns (he still doesn't know how she got it in the first place, but he'll ask later) - Clint glances over at his best friend. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing, Mr. Mullet," Nat says, grinning broadly as another alien explodes into purple goo.

"Aww, mullet, no."

Nat snickers outright then and Clint concentrates as they defeat another wave of aliens. At least the goo matches his outfit.

The best and worst thing about being Nat's best friend is that she's always right. The mullet has to go, but Clint being Clint doesn't want to admit that Nat's right, and it takes him another two weeks before he asks her about it.

"I know a guy. I'll send you to him," Nat says, patting him on the head like he's five.

Clint winces when she brushes up against a new bruise - the tracksuit mafia play dirty and one of the bastards had pulled his hair hard enough to tear his scalp, which may or may not have led to the abrupt decision to get it cut - and tries not to pout. "You know a guy?"

"Yes, several. Only one Clint, though," she adds, as though to appease his pride and pout.

_ Damn her, it works, too. _

...

Okay, Clint knows Nat wouldn't ever set him up - especially not after he admitted she was right and he needed a haircut - but that doesn't mean he's just going to show up to a place and blindly trust whoever's inside. Especially not with his hair. Or scissors and razors and other sharp 'n pointy near his skin. So he scopes it out for a few days, sitting outside at random times over the three days to determine who's a customer and who's an employee. On the third day, Clint sees who Nat's "guy" is and it takes all of his training and inner willpower (hey, he has  _ some _ , okay? There's four whole pieces of pizza left in the fridge, and that's willpower if nothing else is) to not stand up and do something stupid.

"God damn it, Nat," Clint mutters, even as he tugs his phone out of his pocket and dials her number.

"What's up?" Nat asks cheerfully, as though she can see his dilemma written over his face.

_ Hell, knowing Nat, she's probably watching this whole thing from the roof of a nearby building. And eating popcorn at the same time. _

"James "Bucky" Barnes is your guy?" he hisses at her, glancing around the street and hoping no one else heard him.

"Mmhmm. He's good with blades. And scissors."

"He's been on the run for the last year, and - " Clint cuts off abruptly, pinching the bridge of his nose, then winces when he realises it's still bruised and covered in a plaster from the tracksuit mafia.  _ Ouch, fuck _ .

"And?" she prompts.

"No one was able to find him."

"I never said that," Nat replies easily.

_ Hell, maybe she's on a beach somewhere, lazing about while the goddamn Winter Soldier is in a hair salon in Queens _ . He realises she's right - again - and Nat hasn't actually said that she never found him.

"The fuck, Nat?"

Nat sighs on the other end of the phone, and if he didn't have his ear pressed to the phone so firmly, he might not even have heard it. It sounds like she's disappointed in him, which... well, that hurts just as much as his nose.

"Look, Steve's a great guy for a fossil, but he's a little... obsessive right now, and James needs time to find out who he is without Captain America, Steve Rogers, or the Winter Soldier."

"How the hell does that result in him becoming a hairdresser?"

"You'll have to ask him. _If_ you ever get your ass inside the salon," Nat adds and he just knows she's smirking.

Clint flips her the finger -  _ he knew she was watching, damn it _ \- and then quickly runs a hand through his hair when some poor old lady comes out of the salon and looks scandalised.

_ Aww, old lady, no _ .

Nat's voice cuts through his thoughts, her voice as serious as she's been in years. "I'm trusting you, Clint. Don't do anything stupid," she says and ends the call abruptly.

...

Clint doesn't go back to the salon for two more days. One, he totally embarrassed himself in front of that old lady, and two, well... he doesn't know if he's ready to see the Winter Soldier, _ hairdresser extraordinaire _ .  _ Hell, what if he's awful at giving haircuts and everyone's just too terrified to tell him otherwise? _ It'd be like saying something mean to Edward Scissorhands, except there's more chance of death with the Winter Soldier.

Lucky's lying next to him on the couch, snuggling up to his pizza-shaped plushie, and Clint's arm's over his head, rubbing Lucky's stomach as he tries to think.  _ Maybe he can cut his own hair? Hell, there's gotta be a billion other hairdressers out there, right? Just how big is the hairdressing industry, anyway? Is there anyone who'd cut his hair and not recognise him as Hawkeye? The last time he'd tried to go out for groceries, some no-name villain almost brought down the store around his ears. Oh, damn, he still needed milk, too _ .

_ Maybe he could just grow his hair long, it's not that big of a deal, right? _ Clint figures, sitting up. Or at least, he tries to sit up. His hair's caught under Lucky, all however many pounds he is, and Lucky's snoring and unlikely to move any time soon.  _ Great, he's survived villains and aliens and being mind-fucked by a villainous alien, but he's captured by his own damn dog _ .

_ Okay, fine. He'll get his hair cut _ .

...

Clint makes an appointment and only gets in with James -  _ not Bucky or Winter Soldier, huh _ \- because he drops Nat's name. From what he saw when he'd scoped them out, the salon's pretty damn busy, so maybe he's lucky to even get an appointment this year.

Still, he doesn't want to make a bad impression -  _ or perhaps he wants to make up for flipping that old lady off _ \- and Clint's at the salon a full half-hour before his scheduled appointment. It's the first time he's been early for anything  _ ever _ . He was even late for his own birth -  _ three weeks late, and it was a bitch every minute _ , according to Barney's description of their mother - so this had better get him brownie points with someone somewhere.

He's seated in a small waiting area while James finishes his customer. Clint can't help but wince when James pauses to choose a pair of scissors, his mind whirling with the potential things the Winter Soldier could do with those scissors and that tender expanse of skin. James grabs a pair of jagged scissors and layers the woman's hair as she talks about something that Clint is glad to have his hearing aids off for. He doesn't know how James can stand the inane small talk; he sure as hell couldn't do it.

James leads the woman over to a sink, her head leaning back into the neck gap thing while he turns the faucet on above her head. Clint can't help but think of waterboarding and almost stands, but the woman isn't flailing or kicking around or trying to get away, so she must be okay.  _ Damn, maybe he should have turned his hearing aids on _ .

Clint watches carefully as James plugs in a hairdryer and starts to dry the woman's hair, a look of concentration on his face that's not unfamiliar - he saw the same look when the Winter Soldier fought against Captain America - but it's softer, too. Like James is determined to get this right and then maybe he'll get brownie points from someone somewhere, too.

_ Aww, feelings, no _ .

James finishes the woman's hair and leads her over to the counter as she continues to talk at him - Clint hardly notices her, but he does notice when James stills abruptly on seeing him. He decides that Nat will probably kill him if he makes James run again, so he smiles and waves instead.

That seems to startle James just as much as if he'd pulled out an arrow and stabbed him with it. Clint kind of feels bad, and reaches up to finally turn his hearing aids on.

" - know each other?"

James glances to the woman at the reception desk and smiles like he's in pain. "Yeah, from way back."

She raises an eyebrow in response. "How far back is that, Jamie?"

Clint wants to laugh at that;  _ Jamie?! _

"Not far enough. C'mon,  _ Clinton _ ," he says after glancing at the booking diary, a twitch at his lips like he wants to laugh at that, too.

"Hey, I didn't know if you'd recognise me. Or my name. But Nat says you're good, and if you're good enough for her, you're good enough for me."

James blinks at the rapid words. "Good enough in what way?" he asks, and are his ears turning pink?

_ Well... Nat has some explaining to do. _

Clint decides not to push James on it - there's still scissors and sharp things around them, after all - and shrugs, plopping down into the chair James is standing behind, his legs splayed until he's at a better height for the chair and mirror. "Her last hairdresser lost a finger for suggesting bangs."

"Huh. Duly noted. Sit up straight," James adds, tapping his shoulder lightly.

Clint sits up straight, grinning when James tilts his head as the top of Clint's head almost reaches his collarbones.  _ Iowa grows 'em tall, all right? _

James glances at him in the mirror, another twitch of an almost smile, and presses his foot on something behind the chair, Clint dropping suddenly.

_ He does  _ **_not_ ** _ yelp. _

"Asshole."

James snorts lightly. "What do you want?"

Clint sort of forgot he was getting a haircut.  _ Oops _ .

"Uhhh, shorter than this?"

"How short? Crew cut, bald?"

"Are those the only two options?" he asks with a grin.

James looks at him in the mirror again and raises an eyebrow.

"Short enough that no one can grab onto it, not so short I look like Fury."

"I'm good, but I'm not that good, Clinton," James says as he grins and reaches up to his own hair, tying it up in a bun, one metal arm moving as smoothly as his flesh one to wrap a hair tie around with ease.

Those feelings Clint experienced earlier suddenly return in full force and now include lust.  _ Oh, no _ .

"Just shut up and cut my hair. Please," Clint adds, remembering the golden rules a moment too late:

1) Never piss off people who make your food,

2) Never piss off people who cut your hair with sharp and pointy things,

3) Never have sex in a trapeze net

_ Maybe that second one should be upgraded to the first rule _ , he muses.

James just shrugs like he's heard worse from other customers and hasn't killed them for it. He opens a new hairdressing cape thing, clipping it around Clint's neck carefully, metal fingers barely brushing his skin.

When that's done, he starts carding his fingers through Clint's hair gently, as if he's trying to work out something with style when Clint hasn't put that much effort into his hair since he left the circus. _It's one thing to be an acrobat and another to be a messy one_.

"I'm not gonna style it; just warning you ahead of time. Whatever you do, it won't look the same in the morning," Clint adds, about as far as he'll push any hairdresser.

" _ Whatever _ I do?" James echoes with a grin.

Clint realises that it could be a double entendre, his cheeks red.  _ Aww, brain filter, no _ .

"I need a coffee," he mutters, wishing he'd had that seventh cup this morning.

"How do you take it?" James asks, as if it's normal for the Winter damn Soldier to be getting people's coffee.

_ Maybe his hearing aids are going faulty? Also, couldn't that be a double entendre, too? _ Clint is thinking about this way too hard.  _ Uh, ignore that one _ .

"Uh, what?" he asks, just in case.

"Your coffee, how do you have it?" James asks, and his ears are red again.

"Black. I don't have the time or patience for anything else," Clint says with a shrug.

"Okay, I'll be right back."

_ Maybe James needs a moment to breathe and calm himself, just like Clint does? _ He doesn't argue and just watches in the mirror as James heads to the back of the salon to presumably get his coffee. Clint doesn't mean to watch his ass, but those jeans are very flattering and the mirror's at the exact height to see said ass in said jeans.

"So, how do you know each other?" the woman from the front counter asks curiously from where she and her customer are watching him like a hawk.

Clint has no way of escaping. "Uhh... I don't suppose I'm allowed back there? To help James with my coffee order?"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "For a black coffee?"

_ Damn _ .

"Nope. Now spill; I haven't seen Jamie this flustered... well, ever, and we had Alexander O'Riordan in here last month."

_ Alexander O'Riordan? _ Clint vaguely remembers the name from a movie or TV show, but he doesn't know anything beyond that.  _ He wonders if Nat knows him, too. Heh, more like that guy wishes he knew Nat _ .

"Ooh, yes. I remember you telling me about it. Jamie just sat him down and did his hair like he was any other customer! Alexander was quite put out, from what you said, Rosa," her customer says with a snicker.

"How long has, uh, James been working here?" Clint asks curiously, hoping he can change the flow of the conversation; he's not as effortless as Nat is when doing this sort of stuff, but Rosa seems all too happy to talk.

"Oh, almost a year now. He spent the first two months sweeping floors like it was his mission in life. Then one of my boys called in sick. Well, _he_ says sick, I say hungover. Anyway, out of nowhere, Jamie says he can cut hair. He does it all shy, like he's not been around us chatterboxes for months," Rosa tuts, expertly cutting her customer's hair and hardly looking at the scissors, even though Clint gulps because they're  _ so close  _ to her fingers. "I gave him a test first, of course; I wasn't going to let the boy ruin my business, and he was rough, but he did it well enough to start with the children. The kids love his arm, of course, and spend half their time focused on that instead of the haircut. It was the quietest the shop's ever been with Irene's triplets. Poor girl didn't know whether to flirt with Jamie or take the gifted peace and sleep."

"I would've chosen sleep, but I understand the girl's dilemma," Rosa's customer says with a snicker, glancing over to the staff door.

Rosa raises an eyebrow at her. "You break Frankie's heart, I'll break your legs."

Clint suddenly understands why James works here.

"I'm not breaking her heart, I'm just looking."

"Mmhmm. Better stay that way."

"Here, your coffee. Ignore anything Rosa's just said about me," James adds, glaring at his boss briefly.

Rosa points her scissors at him. "It was all good things, Jamie. You know I've got your back."

Clint drinks his coffee and tries not to be too amused about the conversation. Rosa obviously knows James well enough to tease him and she isn't scared to do it, either.  _ Hell, maybe hairdressers were invincible and could face anyone and anything? It wouldn't surprise him. Maybe he'd have to proposition Fury about getting new SHIELD recruits from the retail industry _ .

"All right, ready for this?" James asks, pointedly turning away from Rosa and her customer.

"Yes, please," Clint says, draining the last of his coffee before he sets the empty cup on the counter in front of him.

James gets a spritz bottle and starts wetting Clint's hair, that look of concentration on his face again. The cool water against his bruised scalp is enough to make Clint wince though, and James hones in on the flinch like it's a flash bomb. "I've barely started; are you okay?"

"Uh... my scalp hurts?"

James frowns at his quiet response and is gentle as he separates a part in Clint's hair to look at his scalp properly, seeing the purple bruise and flecks of dried blood that Clint's missed. "Fuck, Clint. What the hell happened? Those aliens didn't - "

"No, not them. This was from the human kind of monster," Clint mutters, not entirely sure what he's feeling because James knows he fought against aliens and that's...  _ weirdly nice? _

James' expression turns hard, like the Winter Soldier is taking off a mask, and his hands tremble as he lets go of Clint's hair and struggles to contain himself.

Clint doesn't know what to do.  _ Should he fight James down or do something else? He doubts Rosa will let him take James away on his break while he's meant to be working. He doesn't know if touch will soothe him or irritate him, and he doesn't want to draw more attention to James than he already has _ . Clint is almost desperate as he takes a risk and grabs James' hand.

James looks at their hands, his eyes wide and chest hardly moving as he struggles to remember how to breathe.

"Hey, I'm okay. They're assholes and even the kids in the apartments throw rocks at them these days. I'm good, it's not too bad, okay?"

James obviously forces himself to nod, but he doesn't pull his hand away yet, and Rosa must know something has happened because she distracts her client with talk of foils and a shampoo, leading her away abruptly and giving James space.

"Uh, do you want me to go?" Clint asks, not wanting to leave just yet but willing to if that's what's needed. He'd rather not be the reason another building comes down around his ears again.

James shakes his hair, his bun bouncing, and he smiles briefly and softly before taking his hand back. "I'm okay."

Clint doesn't call him out on his bullshit, but just stays seated and waits. He tries to think of something to say, something to distract James - or possibly the Winter Soldier - and wishes Nat had come here with him.  _ She always knows what to say _ .

"Your fingernails are purple," Clint says, seeing the flash of colour as James splays and stretches his fingers, easing his hands from the fists they'd been clenched in.

James looks at his nails and that soft smile is back, more innocent now, and his shoulders relax. "The kids like them. Helps keep them calm while I'm cutting their hair."

"Do you paint them yourself?" Clint asks, feeling like it's a stupid question but he's curious despite himself.

James shakes his head. "Rosa's kids are doing a beauty technician course; I'm their guinea pig on the good days. They let me choose the colours, though."

Clint grins at the thought of the Winter Soldier being anyone's guinea pig.  _ Well, not in the murderous sense. Maybe this is a way to earn brownie points, too _ ? "I like purple."

James ducks his head and nods. "Yeah, I know. Natalia talks about you a lot, and, y'know, I've seen your uniform."

Clint grins. "Pepper won't let me add more purple to it, but joke's on her 'cause I always wear purple socks."

That startles a laugh out of James and he looks surprised by the sound. "I believe it."

"Good."

"Still want to get your haircut?" James asks suddenly, his shoulders tense like he's worried Clint will judge him for the last few minutes.

"Yeah. You're good?"

James nods. "I'll be gentle."

_ Aww, double entendre, no _ . Clint doesn't choke at his response and he definitely doesn't hear Rosa laughing from the sinks.

"Thanks," he replies, refusing to look at anyone - least of all himself - in the mirror.

James is true to his word and is gentle as he starts to cut Clint's hair, scissors precise and each cut deliberate and with a kind of intent that reminds Clint again of the Winter Soldier. He stays quiet as James works and there's a pleasant sort of peace that comes with the action. James' hands touch him with a sense of purpose, like he has to do this to prove he can be something other than a killer. _O_ _ r perhaps Clint's projecting? _

He opens his eyes when he feels the chair move and blinks, suddenly looking straight at James, not through a reflection or mirror, and apparently his eyes have flecks of green in them. James is looking at his fringe, doing something to make it stand up with the water in his hair, if the reflection from another mirror is any indication. (Clint can see James' ass again, and he can't look away but doesn't know where else to look, either.)

James stands straight and turns Clint in the chair again, and Clint forces himself not to look in that other mirror to keep looking.  _ Rosa's definitely laughing now _ .

"All right, what about the back?" James asks, playing with a lock of hair almost subconsciously, and Clint likes the feeling far too much.

"Short again. Buzzed, please."

"Mohawk?" James suggests, half teasing and half dare, even as he sets the clippers up.

"I don't think I'm there yet," Clint says with a laugh.

"Maybe next time," he says easily, gently tilting Clint's head forward and starting to buzz his hair.

The vibrations against his neck make Clint's cheeks heat up again and he desperately tries to think of something that isn't James and other vibrating tools.  _ Arrows. Those could work. Boomerang arrows, exploding arrows, arrows that split in mid-air and hit multiple people, vibrating arrows... aww, fuck, no _ .

James brushes some stray hair away from Clint's neck, wondering if he'd done something since Clint's neck is bright red. "You okay?"

Clint can't trust his voice and just nods.

"I just need to go over your ears now. Do you want to turn off your aids so the noise doesn't bother you?" James offers.

It's the first time any hairdresser has offered, and Clint's touched at the fact James thought about it. He nods and turns off his aids, watching in the mirror until James starts, not wanting to be startled by a sudden metal device against his skin, especially near his ears. He has a thing about being stabbed in the head again, so sue him. (Please don't sue him, he's no good at money management and has nothing left. Well, Pepper says otherwise, but Clint doesn't look at the reports so long as he has enough to buy pizza and coffee, and things for Lucky. Still, don't sue him. Please.)

Maybe it's because it's James or maybe it's because Clint's feeling things, but he swears there's something overwhelming and intense between them as he watches James cut around his ears carefully, even the metal of his arm and fingers oddly gentle. Clint feels like his breath is caught in his chest, and his hands are clenched tight beneath the cape.  _ Even if Nat was the one cutting his hair right now, he'd still be this tense. He hates this part, no matter who it is _ . His breath leaves him in a soft gasp as James finishes one side and sets the scissors and comb down.

Clint forces himself to open his eyes -  _ it's just a haircut, even kids get haircuts, nothing's wrong, he's fine _ \- and sees James waiting patiently in the mirror behind him, a cup of coffee in his hands. He hadn't even realised James had left, and Clint hates that he feels vulnerable because of it. He switches his aids back on and then accepts the coffee with trembling hands.

_ Nothing's wrong, he's fine. _

_ Maybe if he says it enough, it'll be true _ .

James is patient as he waits for Clint to calm down, not even looking away when Rosa's customer calls out to him as she leaves.

By the time Clint finishes the coffee, the warmth from the mug has seeped into his hands and they're no longer trembling. He sets the mug down next to his earlier cup and looks at James in the mirror. "I'm ready now. Thanks, James."

There's more than gratitude in his words and Clint thinks James realises that, considering his ears go red again.

James shrugs. "You needed it. I'd let you go home and recover, but my pride won't let you leave with half a hairdo," he adds, grinning as though he's proud of his joke.

_ Hell, maybe he's proud of his work as a hairdresser, too. It's not something Clint would judge him about. Everyone's gotta be proud of something, right? _

"All right. I can do this in... hmm, seventy seconds, tops. Trust me?" James asks, picking up the scissors and comb again.

"Seventy seconds?"

James nods firmly. "If you stay still and don't move," he clarifies.

_ Clint's a sniper and can stay still for hours, let alone seventy seconds. But seventy seconds with scissors and clippers next to his ear will feel like hours _ . He inhales, turns off his hearing aids once more, and then nods.

"All right, James. I trust you."

James' responding smile is breathtaking.

_ Seventy, sixty-nine, sixty-eight, sixty-seven... _

Clint counts like his life is on the line and watches James in the mirror. Again, that determination is there, but Clint doesn't think of the Winter Soldier this time. This time it's just James, trying to make sure he cuts Clint's hair in the shortest amount of time possible to stop him having another anxiety attack. He's trying to keep Clint safe in his own way, doing something with a blade and scissors that the Winter Soldier probably never even thought of, and he's doing it on his own without Captain America or Steve Rogers or even Sergeant Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier. This is James' skill and his alone.

_ Hell, maybe Clint's just projecting again. _

_ Forty-five, forty-four, forty-three, forty-two... _

He wonders what Nat'll say if he asks James on a date. He wonders what James will say.  _ What if he says no? He's an Avenger and James is on the run from an Avenger (or at the very least hiding out and away from one), and he's a kid from the circus and James fought in... well, several wars, probably, and he sometimes eats cereal for dinner and James is an adult who's older than Captain America _ .

_ Jesus fucking Christ, what is he thinking? Count, Barton, that's all you're good for right now. _

_ Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six... _

_ What if he asks and James says yes? They could go on a date and have sex and explore this thing Clint's just realising about James' metal hand in his hair and the slight pressure against his skull, turning his head like he's boneless. James isn't doing it like Clint's his puppet, a hand reaching into his head and destroying him from the inside out. Instead, James is moving him with the sort of firm pressure you have holding onto a large diamond or a stolen piece of art: it's fragile and priceless, but it's too precious to drop, so you hold on tight instead. He's never felt **precious** in someone's grip before _ .

_ Five, four, three, two, one. _

Clint feels dopey as he watches James set the scissors and comb down carefully and pick up a large fluffy brush. They're both silent as James starts to brush the fallen hairs away from Clint's neck. He tries to snap himself out of the daze he somehow got into and swallows hard as James' metal hand brushes against his neck as he undoes the cape. 

_ Jesus, he's taking this fluffy brush home with him. James, too, if he's willing and Clint's not projecting _ .

"All done. You okay, Clint?" James asks carefully once he's caught Clint's eye in the mirror.

His hearing aids are still off,  _ oops _ . He takes a moment to turn them back on, glancing at his red cheeks in the mirror and away abruptly, and forces himself to smile as James shows him the back and sides of his hair. He doesn't give a damn about his hair anymore.

"What do you think?" James asks, sounding nervous and possibly hopeful.

"It looks great," Clint says; he could be bald and would still say that.

James grins happily. Clint looks in the mirror, brushing a few stray hairs away from the plaster on his nose -  _ it tickles _ \- and follows James to the front counter, wondering how he's going to ask James on a date, his mind split between that difficult task and the task of finding his cash in his numerous pockets.

_ Knife, mini arrow, glove, safety pin, grenade pin (sans grenade, but the bad guys don't need to know that), ah, there's his cash _ .

Rosa and James are both looking at him expectantly when Clint realises the silence isn't because of his ears and he looks between them in confusion. _ What did he miss? _

"A date?" James prompts.

_ Oh, James was asking him out! Why didn't this happen more often? _

"How about this Saturday?" he asks with a grin.

James frowns and Clint realises with daunting horror that it isn't happening now, either.

"I don't think your hair will grow back that fast - "

Clint needs to leave  **_now_ ** . He throws his cash on the counter and practically runs out the door.

...

Clint turns his phone off, his hearing aids off, locks his door and windows, and even leaves Lucky with a neighbour so he can wallow without interruption. His wallowing lasts two whole hours before Nat's in his apartment, glaring at him like he...  _ well, she didn't glare at him with the whole Loki possession thing, so maybe she's glaring at him now to make up for it? _ He curls his blanket around his shoulders tighter and closes his eyes.

"Go away, Nat," he says even though he can't hear or see her response.

He's not sure what he expects from her - Nat rarely listens to him when she knows she's right about something, and as always, she's always right - but being beaten with his dog's pizza plushie isn't it.

"Ow, watch my head! That hurts!"

Nat's attacks don't stop but they do become focused on his shoulders and stomach instead, so that's as close to an apology as he'll get.

Clint's almost twice her size but Nat's determined and by the time he's had enough of her plushie attack and opens his eyes, she's no longer standing in front of him. He gets smacked by the plushie once more between his shoulder blades and then it's dropped onto his lap and Nat moves around to face him.

' _ Ears. Now _ .' she signs, looking as angry as that time someone destroyed her brand new leather jacket.

Clint sighs as noisily as he can, then turns his aids on. "What? I'm trying to sleep!"

"It's two in the afternoon, Clint."

"So?"

"What did you do to James? I knew I should have watched the cameras in real time but Rosa said you both needed privacy, and damn it, I listened to her. Plus, she promised me a viewing party with popcorn if it was good, and we all know it was going to be good," Nat says, smirking evilly like the evil person she was.

_ Great, he's best friends with an evil person. _

"I didn't do anything to him!"

"So why is Rosa calling me saying James is sulking?"

"I don't know."

"Uh huh. Why are you sulking then?"

"I asked him out." Nat looks far too pleased for Clint's liking, so he adds, "He said no."

Nat glares and reaches for the pizza plushie. "Don't you lie to me, Clinton Francis Barton."

_ Aww, full name, no. _

"I'm not lying!" he says, pulling the plushie away and throwing it in the corner and far away from Nat's reach.

Nat waits a beat, watching him intently, like he's one of her targets, and Clint glares back at her but it's without any heat. She sighs and shakes her head, muttering under her breath too low for his aids to pick up on, but he swears she says  _ 'idiot men' _ .

"What?"

"You're an idiot, but so's he. Emotionally constipated idiots who are ruining six months of hard work over a stupid miscommunication and you're  _ so very fucking lucky _ I like you, Barton."

Clint is _so very fucking_ **_confused_**. "What?"

Nat sighs again and reaches out to grab his face in her hands. "You listen to me and you listen carefully, got it?"

" _Ot it_ ," he says, squished between her hands.

"He was asking about your next hair appointment, you weren't listening, you asked him on a date, and before he could say yes, you ran out the door like an idiot. He's sulking because he thinks he ruined his chances, you're sulking because you think he doesn't like you, and Rosa owes me fifty bucks if you two get together by the end of the night, so go out there and  **fix this** ."

Motivation is sometimes a scary thing that comes in the form of an evil redhead.

...

James glares at his door when there's a loud and familiar knock, wishing for the first time that those assholes who'd experimented on him had done more and included laser eyes or something. "I said I'm fine, Rosa!"

There's a beat of silence but he doubts she's given up and left that easily, so he stalks over to the door and wrenches it open, growling and intent on scaring her away if he has to.

Rosa smiles at him when James stops abruptly. "There you are. Natalie sent a present to cheer you up," she says, reaching up to push Clint between the shoulder blades and guide him into James' small apartment.

" _Rosa!_ " James hisses at her.

Clint is adorably red again and James doesn't know if he wants to slam the door on Rosa or throw himself out the window to escape.

"Well, since it's costing me fifty dollars, I suppose it's my present. Be grateful," Rosa says sternly to both of them, Clint ducking his head and nodding. "And _talk_ , would you?" she adds, her sigh reminiscent of Nat's disappointed one, then she closes the door and leaves them in silence together.

James wonders if going through the window is still an option, then registers Rosa's words. "Wait, why's it costing her anything?" 

Clint looks up at that, a grin on his face. "Nat's been betting with citizens again."

"She still does that?" James asks incredulously; the last time she'd done that...  _ Well, whoever said a bet wasn't a good motivator had obviously never made a bet with Natalia Romanov _ .

Clint nods, then sighs and runs a hand over his face, sinking down to sit on the floor. "I fucked up, hey?"

James sits down as well -  _ there's a perfectly good table with two chairs right there, but the floor's closer  _ \- and shrugs. "I ran after you. You're fast," he says, almost accusingly because he's the damn Winter Soldier and he couldn't catch up to Clint. He looks at Clint's legs now, his long legs splayed out on either side of him, looking far too inviting, and James hurries to look up at Clint's face quickly instead.

"I ran and then collapsed in a dumpster. Don't tell Nat."

" _ In _ it?"

Clint shrugs. "Figured my life was heading there already, so I might as well get ahead of the curve."

James blinks. "That's... surprising." The Winter Soldier doesn't get surprised often these days.

"You'll get used to it."

"You climbing into dumpsters? Probably not, but at least I'll know where to look next time."

Clint laughs and it's a rough sound that makes James far too aware of his pulse in his chest and a heat pooling in his stomach. "There's going to be a next time?"

"Hopefully not."

The silence stretches between them for twenty seconds, forty seconds, sixty... James doesn't know what to do or say;  _ what would Natalia do? No, he can't beat the answer out of Clint. He's pretty sure that's not how relationships work, at least _ .

"Ask me again?" he asks instead, knowing he'd hate it if he lost this second chance.

Clint blinks at James' sudden question;  _ aww, no, did he miss something again? _

"Before you ran off. Ask me again? Please?" James adds, remembering how Clint had said _please_ and how he'd lost the tension in his hands and shoulders each time.

_ Oh. _

"Want to go on a date this Saturday? With me," Clint adds, just in case it's not clear.

James grins and nods. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Outside the door, there's a curse in rapid Spanish and they can both hear Nat's victorious voice through Rosa's phone. Rosa's footsteps leave this time, muttering about idiot boys costing her her hard-earned money.

Clint just grins and laughs again. Whatever brownie points he'd gained to get a date with James, it was worth it.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


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